


So Alike

by arcticfox903



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abused Sam Winchester, Child Abuse, Episode: s01e14 Nightmare, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 09:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9172387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcticfox903/pseuds/arcticfox903
Summary: "These visions, this whole time--I wasn't connecting to the Millers. I was connecting to Max. The thing I don't get is why, man. I guess because we're so alike?" said Sam.Dean finds out what Sam has been hiding from him for his whole childhood. It turns out that Max Miller and Sam have more than just psychic abilities in common.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for mentions of child abuse.

Sam studiously ignored the concerned glances Dean was sending his way as he drove. They were headed to Max Miller’s stepmother’s house to stop Max murdering her with a kitchen knife.

Sam’s head still ached and pulsed with pain. For the first time, the vision had sprung on him while he was still awake. He’d even been in mid-sentence talking to Dean when it hit, the blinding waves of pain that burst into his temples, and then the sudden images which appeared before his eyes like a movie. The worst part was the way his open eyes could still see Dean, terrified and holding him, at the exact same time as he witnessed the vision. The dual input to his brain was overwhelming and exhausting.

He knew he was going to pass out later, tired and hurting, but for now adrenaline coursed through him, keeping him alert and on task. They needed to get to the Millers’ house, fast, before Max did something unforgivable.

“So how is Max going to pull it off?” asked Dean. “I need details, man.”

“I don’t know. It looked like telekinesis.”

“So he’s psychic? A spoon bender?”

“Guess so. This whole time, he was there. He was outside of the garage when his dad died. He was in the apartment when his uncle died. These visions, this whole time--I wasn’t connecting to the  _ Millers _ . I was connecting to  _ Max. _ The thing I don’t get is why, man. I guess because we’re so alike?” said Sam, the words tumbling out. 

Dean glanced at him, askance. “What are you talking about? Dude’s nothing like you.”

Sam hesitated. “We both have psychic abilities. We’re both--”

“Both what? Sam, Max is a monster. He’s already killed two people. Now he’s gunning for a third.”

Sam closed his eyes. “I’m just saying that with what he went through--the beatings--to want revenge on those people--I’m sorry, man. I hate to say it, but it’s not that insane. I mean, there was more than one time that I got so angry at Dad…”

He trailed off, eyeing Dean out of the corner of his vision, trying to gauge how much his older brother knew. Both Dad and Sam had made their own efforts to make sure that Dean hadn’t seen anything, but it had been years now since the last incident, and Dad was still missing. Maybe they’d never find their dad again. Maybe the secrecy didn’t matter anymore.

“Sammy, I don’t know why you’re trying to draw these parallels. There’s a big fucking difference between arguments with your old man and getting beat to hell by him.”

Sam sighed. “Dean…”

Dean turned toward him more, picking up on the strange tone. “What?”

Sam didn’t know how to form the words. For so long he’d kept the secret from Dean that it felt wrong to say anything plainly like this, just out in the open. But Sam’s time at Stanford had been good for him; he’d done some growing up, and he just wasn’t that scared little kid anymore. He’d been away from John Winchester for long enough to realize that what happened to him wasn’t okay, and that Dean was the only one he could really trust in this world.

“Sometimes,” said Sam haltingly, “the fights Dad and I used to have… they’d get a little out of hand.”

“What are you trying to say, Sam? That Dad, what, hit you?” said Dean, eyebrows furrowed. “Dude, I’ll be the first to admit that he drank too much and there were a few times I was a bit… worried… but nothing happened. I made sure of that.”

Sam looked out the window. “We can talk about it later, Dean, after we stop this from happening. There’s the Millers’ house, third one on the left.”

Dean frowned at him but pulled the car into the driveway. He pulled a gun out of the glove compartment and checked to see if it was loaded. Sam gaped and pressed a hand to Dean’s shoulder, stopping him from getting up.

“What do you need that for? We’re not going to kill Max!”

Dean goggled at him. “Kid is murdering his entire family. He’s no different than anything else we’ve hunted. What the hell would we do otherwise--hand him over to the cops and say, ‘Lock him up, officer. He kills with the power of his mind!’”

“Forget it,” ordered Sam, his voice level. “No way, man.”

“Sam--”

“Dean, he’s a person. We can  _ talk  _ to him.”

Dean eyed him. “All right, Sammy. Five minutes. But I’m bringing this anyway; there’s no way in hell I’m going in unarmed.”

“Fine. But you won’t need it,” said Sam resolutely.

They headed inside. Max and his stepmother were already yelling at each other, and Max’s eyes were filled with tears. 

Coaxingly, Sam convinced Max to talk with him while Dean took care of the stepmother. They headed to the sitting room, where Max sat stiffly on the couch and wouldn’t look Sam in the eyes. Instead, his attention was focused on telekinetically fiddling with a letter-opener on the side table, making it stand up on its point and spin around.

“Max,” said Sam softly. “This has to stop.”

“It will… after my stepmother.”

“No, you need to let her go.”

“Why?” said Max, his voice cracking.

“Did she beat you?”

“No, but she never tried to save me. She’s a part of it, too.”

Sam closed his eyes briefly. “What they did to you--what they  _ all _ did to you growing up, they deserve to be punished, but--”

“Growing up? Try last week. My dad still hit me. Just in places people wouldn’t see it,” said Max, breathing heavily. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sam thickly.

“Of course you are. Everyone’s fucking  _ sorry _ , but no one understands.”

Sam met his eyes. “I do. Max, my dad would beat me up, too. Same thing… in the places people wouldn’t see.”

Max stilled. The letter opener, which had been spinning, clattered as it fell down. 

“It happened to you, too?”

Sam nodded, swallowing hard. “It’s been a few years since I last saw my dad, since I got away from my family… but yeah. All my life.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying. You’re just trying to convince me that you’re just like me, so that you can get me to do what you want.”

“No, Max,” said Sam, and his voice broke as he said, “I’m telling the truth. To be completely honest, I haven’t told anyone about it before. You’re the first.”

He stood up and lifted the hem of his tee shirt high, showing Max a jagged scar that ran down the side of his torso. “My dad was pretty good about not leaving any permanent marks,” said Sam, voice shaking. “But he slipped up a few times. He cut me with a broken whiskey bottle here… he was really fucking drunk that night. I was twelve.”

A couple of tears trailed down Max’s face. “All right, all right,” he said. “I believe you.”

Sam pulled his shirt down and sat across from the young man once more. It felt so  _ wrong _ to show someone the marks that he was so accustomed to hiding from everyone. He remembered when he’d first had sex with Jess, she’d seen his body and the marks that littered it. She hadn’t said anything, but Sam could see the realization dawning in her eyes. True, a good portion of his scars were from hunting, but not all of them. It was all too easy to get out of talking about his past by letting her believe the half-truth--that his father had hurt him. 

“And that brother of yours, he just stood aside and let it happen? Just like my stepmom?”

“No,” said Sam forcefully. “Dean never knew. I never wanted him to know, and my dad would wait until he was gone… at a date or on an errand, or while he was asleep. Then there was a long stretch of time where my brother was staying at some boys’ home in upstate New York. That was when it was the worst.”

Max let out a long breath. “...How did you get away?”

“I went to college. Had a big fight with my old man and finally left it all. I know you’re working on saving up money for school, Max. We can help you with that. We can help you get all set up in a life away from your family. It won’t be easy, but you don’t have to do this.”

Max seemed to struggle with himself for a while, and then he choked out, “Yes, I do. It’s not just about getting away. Just knowing that she’d still be out there…it’s about not being afraid. When my dad used to look at me, there was hate in his eyes. You know what that feels like, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” whispered Sam.

“He blamed me for everything, for his job, his life, for my mom’s death.”

Sam blinked. “...My dad was exactly the same. He blamed me for my mom’s death, too. Said I was some kind of devil’s spawn, and that it was my fault for everything.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “Max, how did your mom die?”

“She died in my nursery, while I was asleep in my crib, as if that makes it my fault. There was a fire… my dad would get drunk and babble on like my mom died in some insane way,” explained Max. He met Sam’s eyes. “He said that she burned up, pinned to the ceiling.”

“Oh my God,” said Sam. “Max… the same thing that killed your mom, killed mine.”

“That’s impossible.”

Sam babbled as he thought through it. “This must be why I’ve been having visions during the day, why they’re getting more intense… because you and I must be connected in some way. Your abilities, they started six, seven months ago, right out of the blue?”

Max’s eyes widened. “How’d you know that…?”

“Because that’s when my abilities started, too, Max. I mean yours seem to be much further along, but still, this means something, right? For some reason, you and I…you and I were chosen.”

“For what?”

Sam rubbed his hands together. “I don’t know. But my brother and I, we’re hunting for your mom’s killer. And we can find answers, answers that help us both. But you’ve got to let us go, Max. You’ve got to let your stepmother go.”

“What they did to me… I still have nightmares,” said Max. “I’m still scared all the time. Like I’m just waiting for the next beating. I’m just so tired of being scared.”

“I’ve been where you are, Max. You don’t have to be scared anymore. I can help you. We can get through this together.”

Max was silent for a long moment. Then he finally said, “It’s too late for that, Sam. Thanks for trying… but I’m sorry.”

 

* * *

  
  


They drove away from the Millers’ household in silence, still reeling from watching Max commit suicide. Sam had seen a lot of death in his life, but it had been especially tough to watch this particular episode play out. He’d been so sure that Max would agree to let them all go, to come away with them and be free of that life. It had all happened so quickly, and Sam had moved that big cabinet with the power of his mind alone… and then Max had shot himself.

“You okay there, Sammy?” asked Dean from the driver’s seat.

“I’ll be fine,” said Sam heavily. “I just thought… I really thought we could have helped him.”

Dean sighed. “I dunno, man. He was pretty screwed up, and he’d already killed two people. And he was one hell of a powerful psychic on top of it.”

“Him being psychic wasn’t the problem.”

“Oh, don’t take it like that,” said Dean. “The telekinesis crap? That’s a whole other ballgame from those visions you get.”

Sam winced. “Dean… there’s something you don’t know. When I was locked in that closet… I moved the cabinet.”

“Huh, guess you’ve got more upper-body strength than I thought.”

“No, Dean. I mean, I moved it like Max. With my mind.”

“...Oh.”

Sam let Dean digest that one for a moment, before he added, “And Max and I… we were more alike than I even thought. Dean, his mom died exactly the same way our mom did--in a fire, on the ceiling of his nursery. We’re both psychic, we both had our mothers die in our nurseries when we were babies, and we both had dads who blamed us for their death.”

“Whoa there, Sam,” said Dean. “Dad didn’t blame you for mom’s death. You were a friggin baby, that wasn’t your fault.”

Sam swallowed. They pulled up to the motel. It was raining now, but neither of them moved to get out of the car. Dean was uncharacteristically silent as he waited for Sam to say something.

“He did blame me, Dean. I think on one level he loved me, but he also hated me... and he resented me. A lot.”

“Sam, what the hell aren’t you telling me?”

“Look, I want to help you find Dad so we can all hunt down the son of a bitch that killed Jessica and Mom. I know that teaming up with him is our best chance. But once that deed is done, I’m out. I’m heading back to Stanford or taking off to build a life somewhere else.”

“Man, why--”

“Because  _ he hurt me _ , okay Dean?” The words exploded out of Sam’s throat, and they felt raw and far too true. “The whole time we were growing up, he hurt me. Just like Max’s dad hurt him.”

Dean reared back. “No--no way. I would have known. I would have seen if--”

“He didn’t want you to know!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me? What the fuck, Sam?”

“I didn’t want you to know, either,” said Sam more quietly. “He loved you, and you idolized the man. I couldn’t do that to you. I didn’t want you to have to hate him, too. We had so little, growing up, and I couldn’t take that away from you.”

Dean stared at him. “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard you say. Dad was  _ hurting _ you, and you didn’t let me know because you wanted to, what, protect me from the truth?”

Sam set his jaw and stared at the windshield, which was growing foggy at the edges.

Dean breathed heavily, at a loss.

“I just thought you should know why I’m taking off after this is all over… and how it’s a big part of why I left for Stanford in the first place. I’m not being a ‘selfish bastard’ as you’ve been so fond of calling me. I’m just getting away from it all.”

“I didn’t mean that,” said Dean quietly. “You’re not selfish, Sammy. I just don’t understand. How did you keep this from me? When the hell did it even happen? What did he do?”

“Ever since I was little, really,” said Sam. “When you went off to elementary school, and it was just me and him… he’d slap me around a bit. And then he would threaten that if I whined to you about it, he’d do the same to you.”

The words tumbled out of Sam. Now that he’d started talking about it, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Then there were times that he’d come home after a hunt. You and I’d both be sleeping, and he’d wake me, get me out of bed. He’d be drunk as hell at that point, telling me I was an abomination, that Mom’s death was on me… and he’d stuff a sock in my mouth and cut me with his hunting knives, then stitch them all up afterwards so they wouldn’t scar.” Sam’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “He was always pretty good at stitches.”

Sam continued, “Every once in a while, you’d be out with some girl, and he knew he’d have me to himself. He’d pretend, I guess, that he was helping me ‘train,’ but it was really just an excuse to hurt me. He’d tie my hands up behind a chair and make me practice getting out of them, but I could never do it in time before he was on me, hitting me and pulling my hair and sometimes bringing knives into that, too.”

Dean stared at him, mouth agape. “Is that why you always used to put up such a fuss whenever I’d go out on a date? Jesus, Sammy, I thought you were just being a whiny little brother, jealous or something. I had no idea--”

“But the worst was those few months you were at Sonny’s place. He knew we didn’t have to hide it from you there. He broke my arm, beat me up… he got really mad ‘cause I was twelve, then, so I started fighting back… trying to use our training. He was really pissed about that, especially when I got a few hits of my own in. ‘Course, it only ended up making things worse for me. I remember being really out of it for a lot of that time… he kept beating me up ‘till I’d pass out. I don’t even want to know how many concussions I got.”

Sam sighed heavily. “It… it feels weird to tell you all of this. For such a long time he’d threaten to hurt you if I didn’t keep quiet, and then he didn’t even have to do that, because I didn’t want to let you know.”

“Sammy… I--”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Dean,” said Sam firmly. “I got away from it. I’m over it. I got some perspective… I’m not that scared little kid, and I’m not going to let him have power over me ever again. I just thought you should know, now. Especially since it might be related to what the thing that killed mom and Jess. Whatever killed them messed with Max, too, and our lives were scarily parallel. Knowing all this shit might be significant to figuring out what the thing wanted with us, and with our families.”

Sam ended there, figuring he’d made his point. He was carefully ignoring Dean’s face, instead opting to stare at the now completely fogged windshield as rain pounded on the roof of the Impala. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Sammy… I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not fucking  _ okay _ !” Dean erupted, and despite himself, Sam flinched back. Dredging up all those memories must have been getting to him, because for a moment he heard the raised voice and all he could see was Dad coming at him. When they yelled, Dean and Dad sounded very similar--the same explosiveness and gritty tone.

“Hey,” said Dean more quietly. “I would never do anything to you, Sam.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” replied Sam honestly.

“My whole life,” said Dean, “has been about protecting you. And it looks like I fucking failed at that, big time.”

“It’s not your fault. I kept it from you. Dad kept it from--”

“Jesus Christ, Sam, I get it, I do. You both wanted me in the dark. But that was eighteen years that I was supposed to keep you safe from harm, and I didn’t even think, didn’t even realize what was happening to you the whole time.”

“It’s okay. I’m over it.”

“You’re not _over_ _it_ , Sam! People don’t just ‘get over’ child abuse like that!”

Sam drew in a breath at the phrase “child abuse.” He’d known that’s what was happening to him, but hearing it out loud made it so much more real. 

“Right,” he said, and his voice shook. “Well, maybe I’m not fully over it. Maybe I won’t ever be. But I’m done being a victim. Fuck, man, I’ve probably grown five inches and gained thirty pounds since Dad last saw me. I was a kid back then, and now I’m twenty-two. I can handle myself against him.”

“No. No way. Change of plans, Sammy--we’re not tracking down Dad anymore. That motherfucker can keep on tailing the thing that killed Mom, and so will we, but we are  _ not _ working with that man anymore if we can help it. Never again.”

Sam blinked at him. “You mean it? Dean, it’s  _ Dad _ . You love the guy!”

“Yeah,” said Dean, and Sam was shocked to see tears glittering in his green eyes. “But I love you more, man. And I’m not putting you in the same damn room with him ever again if I can help it. That fucking, piece-of-shit bastard.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sam.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, little brother,” said Dean, subtly wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Now let’s get inside. From now on, it’s you and me. We’ll figure all this psychic stuff out together. We’ll find the thing that killed Mom and your girlfriend, and we’ll put that fucker down ourselves. No more Dad. And no more secrets, okay?”

Sam really did have the best brother in the world. “Okay, Dean. You and me.”

They got out of the Impala, jogged through the rain to the motel, and decided to stay in that night, watching I Love Lucy reruns and cracking open some beers. Sam felt lighter and freer than he had since Jess died. 

And if Dean was a little more protective after that--and when he later flinched after being told that the jagged scar on Sam’s torso wasn’t actually from a werewolf, but from Dad--that was okay. Because they were brothers, and they’d go to Hell and back for each other.


End file.
